


Paved with Good Intentions

by karrenia_rune



Category: Gargoyles, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 2012 Rare Women Exchange, Crossover, F/F, Mentorship, Victorian Attitudes, common ground
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can two wayward souls with a penchant for adventure and danger find that they have much more in common than either would have imagined possible and in this era anyway Demona, or her alias, Dominique Destine will have much to learn from her new mentor, despite her initial reservations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paved with Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/gifts).



Disclaimer: Gargoyles: the Animated Series belongs to Disney and Buena Vista Television. Sherlock, the series belongs to it’s producers and creators. It is not mine and they are only ‘borrowed’ for the purposes of the story. I claim only the words.  
Written for graycardinal in the 2012 Multifandom Rare Women Exchange

“Paved with Good Intentions” by karrenia 

The assumed identity of Dominque Destine was as new to her as the outfit that she wore for the occasion, one her that her new ally had not only insisted that she wear but had also provided. At the same time she was not at all certain if the subterfuge was necessary, the spell to appear human during the day was new and although she had to admit it was effective it still made her feel as if she had an unreachable itch just underneath the skin.

“Remind me again, why this is necessary?” she demanded of the other woman who strolled beside her with her head held high and her blonde hair piled up in an intricate coif that appeared as if were a sailing ship and would come undone at the merest nudge. 

“We’ve been over this a dozen times,” her companion replied languidly brushing aside a strand of honey blonde hair that had fallen down over her startling blue eyes. “I hardly see that now is the time or place to do so once more.”

“Humor me,” Demona demanded.

“Because it’s necessary, because,” she added as she continued to walk up the lane that led to the front entrance of the sprawling mansion, ticking items off on her be-ringed fingers. “Also, every so often one must bow to the expectations of society, even I.”

“I understand all that,” Demona interrupted with a snarl.

“Of course you do,” Irene replied with a sigh and then glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “It’s just that I promised Sherlock that I would look out for you and that’s been difficult to do of late.

“I had not intended it to be,” Demona replied.

“No, No,” Irene replied. “You of all people should know that appearances are very often deceiving, keep a wary eye and ear out and as we’ve agreed, let me do the talking.”

“Very well,” Demona replied. “I understand.”

The parlor of the home was decorated with furniture everywhere, antimacassar, ottomans, sofas, and a coat rack where a coat rack had absolutely no business in being, yet it remained.

Demona sighed. Humans were strange creatures, but from the moment that she had met Irene Adler, whirling knives in a dingy and fetid ally alongside two men in a dress slacks and a dark coats; she could appreciate the seeming incongruity of the situation, if not the absurdness of it. 

She was given to understand the human women of this era and of a certain station did not customarily indulge in such activities. As a matter of fact, it was frowned upon more often not. Irene had cheerfully and with a decidedly wicked grin informed her that she spit in the face of societal conventions and conventional wisdom.

Demona’s intervention, although she could not have said why she chose to do so at the time, was met with a snarl and, “Stay out of this, whoever and whatever you are.” 

When the fight had concluded and the shock of her appearance had worn off, the two men and the woman merely exchanged knowing glances and a muttered conversation regarding the whereabouts of the cops, the habits of the citizens of White Chapel and the best route to get back to their own premises. ‘Humans, were indeed, strange, but until she met Irene and through her, Dr. Holmes and Dr. Watson she would have said that all humans   
were alike, but not these three.”

Irene, for all of her fire and obviously impetuous and rebellious n nature, about flying in the face of the norms adopted by society, certainly knew just how and when to adopt them whenever the occasion demanded it. She had also slowly and patiently introduced taught and retaught Demona the finer points of dress and comportment until the lessons stuck. 

This had taken the course of several months, and perhaps it might not have taken as long as it did if it were not for her own stubborn nature and doubt that any of it would ever be useful. Why would she need to learn the mannerisms and sciences of humans? Now, she realized that she had been stubborn to the point of foolishness, yes, the dress and the makeup were dreadfully uncomfortable, but they gained them access to places where they and the men would otherwise never been permitted entry.

Even as they walked she was conscious of the eye-tracks and the gossiping of these ladies engaged as a matter of course, doing so with the backs of their hands raised to their lips. 

They were greeted cordially enough and Irene, as they had agreed did the talking, giving her own name and Dominque Destine, a distant cousin freshly arrived from Scotland. ‘True enough, as far as it went.’ Demona thought and then pushed the meandering thought to a back corner of her mind.

A few minutes passed in which formal introductions were, and the woman whose was hostess of the cotillion, Virginia Mathews had welcomed everyone she smiled and began to offer tea.

The refectory table had been laid out with a lavish repast had been laid out complete with a steaming tea seat that these English people seemed to serve at every meal, regardless of the occasion. she realized that Irene had been right. Although she would never quite reconcile her assumed identify with her true one; it certainly did have its uses and she may have continue to find uses for it in the future. 

As soon as that particular thought crossed her mind it was closely followed by another much less pleasant one, the pain of the transformation was sheer agony, and although she both admired, liked and appreciated everything that Irene had done for her; at some point their alliance could not last forever.’

“Which part of Scotland are you from?” Mrs. Matthews inquired at point during the conversation

“The northern part,” Irene answered on her friend’s behalf. 

“Dominque, dear whatever is the matter, you look so pale. Is something wrong?” Mrs. Matthews asked.

Shaken out of her meandering thoughts Demona managed a polite bob of her head and shook out her mane of red hair. “No, No, I mean, yes, I was just a bit preoccupied. It’s these murders over White Chapel way, dreadful business.”

The other ladies seated around the table seemed not to care for the turn the conversation had taken and expressed their discomfort with assorted delicate sniffs or a moue of distaste. Irene ignored them.

“Just because something is distasteful doesn’t mean that we can turn a blind eye to it,” she stated.

The ladies, wives of distinguished and wealthy men of the town bristled at that and for the remainder of the evening turned the topics of conversation to other more palatable subjects.  
**

When the evening came to a close and they were being escorted out of the mansion by an efficient and discrete butler Demona could not help remark once the man was out of ear-shot, “They looked like a bunch of birds all lined up in a row! What did we learn from all of that, anyway?”

“We gave you a field run in how one behaves in polite society and that everyone has something to hide.”

“You do not extend your trust easily.”

“An excellent observation, my friend,” Irene replied with a sigh, as she adjusted the fit of white kid-skin gloves. “But as you have no doubt learned by now, once that trust is earned I intend to extend to within the full measure of my capacity.”


End file.
